Skyrim - Scourged by Time
by joep200
Summary: 20 years after Alduin's defeat. The Dragonborn disappeared long ago. Whiterun is split in two. Companions fight against their new Jarl. The Reach has been taken by the forsworn. The Thalmer occupy Solitude, Dawnguard and most of the North. Ulfric resides in Windhelm, his last bastion once more, old and frail. A new set of characters unveil their story, meeting old ones too.


**Haldwyn**

'Gods! There's another one!' Haldwyn cried as he dodged another swing of the creature's sword, almost stumbling over one of the half-weathered tombstones. He parried, swung with might, and caught the fore-bone of its sword arm, shattering it on impact, but the skeleton did not seem to notice, swinging relentlessly with the jagged stump of its appendage. The skeletons had come just as they had finished setting up camp, and had cut Ashar to pieces before any of them could react. He was a travelling merchant, who had brought with him a ruby the size of an eye in the hopes of gaining enough gold to buy a new home. But the first blow from behind had done it, spilling the juice from his head as the blade carried through midway down his cheek. And then there were four of them against a dozen or so. The bones did not tire, it seemed, slashing at them all relentlessly with no sign of slowing. 'Akatosh, help me!' Behind him, he heard the snap and chimes of shattering bones falling to the ground. Derron Haldos, a burly, handsome youth of nineteen, bounded around Haldwyn and struck down his next creature through its shoulder and down to its pelvis, putting an end to it all. It was silent then. Around them, bones carpeted the dirt, ancient swords blazoned with rust lay dormant… for now, at least.

'Will we see an end to this madness?' Kilah growled, sheathing her elven sword. For such a slight, beautiful girl, she fought like a hideously deranged stag, with speed and agility to match. No one dared answer her question. 'I fear I hold a distain for this tiny land already.'

'We should press on,' Derron said slowly, caution bleeding from every word. 'This place aches my nerves.'

'How insightful.' Kilah kneeled to grasp an intricate sword which reflected the glare of the moons like a still pond. 'Silver,' she muttered.

'Very good,' Jaharrin Palor said, emerging for the first time since the hoard of possessed bones had first descended upon them, almost an hour ago by now. The skeletons had tried to wait them out, it seemed, circling the three warriors as Jaharrin climbed behind a large bolder on the hillside. 'I think I may find some use in that.' He opened his palm. For a moment she thought to refuse him, but she reminded herself that one more sword would add an extra third to their manpower, for all his skill was worth.

'This place reaks of death,' Derron muttered.

'Ugh,' Jaharrin spat. 'My intelligence putrefies around you, boy.'

Derron moved fast, claymore raised high. Haldwyn moved quick enough, almost knocked over by the youth's bulk—and Haldwyn was no small man. Derron was built like an ox. 'You insult me, Mage scum?'

'Derron!' Haldwyn spoke through his teeth. 'You would spill a man's blood over an insult?!'

'I would spill the blood of a coward who hides in tall grass! And a coward who insults me is no intelligent man. He invites death.'

Jaharrin sighed slowly, as though to tempt Derron further. 'A coward? No. I have told you, boy, I was born under the stars of the Atronach. Expend my magicka here and I am of no use to you later, so yes—I hide when you face creatures my grandmother could break. But mark my words, boy, should you face a real danger on these roads—one which does not swing a sword, but sets the land alight, freezes oceans and incinerates you where you stand—having me in your party would mean the difference between life and death.' He studied the blade Kilah had given him closely, as though it held some unique property unknown to the simple swordsmen. 'You've never seen an atronach, have you? None of you have.'

The others remained silent. Derron's pride would surely not allow him to answer that. Kilah was always eager to learn of magical beasts she had not yet encountered, and Haldwyn's back gave a shudder. He had heard the stories.

'Well,' Jaharrin continued,' they're not the simplified pixies you dreamed of after your whore mothers told you stories at night.' The young bull made a stir next to Haldwyn, but he settled quickly—even he seemed eager to hear of it now. 'They do not dance and throw little fireballs the size of your head, or fire icicles the size of your arms. They move like the wind moves through your clothes, like a hawk in the night sky. Flame atronachs may look like a dainty red girl with horns from afar, but get close and you see death shed from her, black shadows within her fire. You do not feel her burn until she wants you to. Your skin will sear, your eyes will melt, but you will continue to fight her as long as she wills to play with you, until she knows when the burns are at their worst. That is when she allows you to feel. And the blackness—it takes the fire within and gives birth to hell inside your flesh.

'The frost atronach will freeze your life's blood, and you will feel your veins shatter and splinter within you—if that's the part of you it chooses to freeze. And your swords will do nothing to the diamond-like mountain, as it stands six feet above you and drives its man-sized spike down your throat.

'Then there's the storm atronach. Don't let it catch you alone, for there is no help for you then. And if it has you in its grasp, you make every effort to scream for someone nearby to kill you, as it can hold you in its lightening, avoiding the heart so as not to kill you, until it gives its pardon for you to die. You cannot kill a storm atronach so easy as the other two.' The dark elf studied the faces of the swordsmen then, as though waiting for the first one to implode into a river of tears.

But the young bull merely chuckled. 'And how is it that you—a skinny runt of a dark elf—have withstood such god-like creatures?'

'Only one, boy. They are rarer than you think, thank the Gods.' He lifted the folds of his black, tattered robes to reveal his pale, withered legs, which stood out against his dark green skin like a flame in a bed of coal. The light skin sat a full inch or so deeper than the surrounding dark. 'Have you ever felt your muscle dying, boy? Ever seen glowing shadows crawl into you and eat at the fibres of flesh and bone as you writhed on the ground, confused and screaming? Three expert healers from the Temple of Debella it took to fix me—and _this _was all they could do. Not even the strongest potion could truly save me from pain—and I sold a house for a very pricy one.' He let his robes fall. 'The worst part was, I only saw it once, staring at me from the other side of a lake with an empty face. It looked like a tiny torch from where I lay. That was before I learned that I could play with the fires, ice and lightening of other creatures. Before I learned what it meant to be born under their stars. Believe me—I am one of the safest people to travel with in these lands. I do not take damage from magic as others do—not any more. Once I mastered my ability, I could choose to no longer be harmed by the elements… save for swords, of course, but I would burn a man to a charred spoil on the earth before he could swing at me.'

'I would love to see that—' Derron began.

'_Leave_ him,' Haldwyn warned, beating a fist into Derron's huge chest. They began to move again then, packing the small leather tents, the bedrolls, the scraps of food they had left. 'We should arrive at Whiterun by the morrow. And no more staying in graveyards. Skyrim is a terrible place—I see that now. Terrible, hostile, and unwelcoming to say the least.'

'You may feel different, mind you,' Jaharrin called back to them, 'when you see the cities. Lovely places, and definitely no atronachs.'

Haldwyn could not tell whether that was a jape or no. He exchanged a glance with Kilah, who shared his confused expression.

'Let us hope so,' he whispered to himself. He patted the young bull on the shoulder, struggling to reach it, and said, 'Perhaps the old Harbinger of the companions will grace us with a warm hearth and a feast of meat and wine and cheese. If I know my sister, she will.'

'What was the wench's name again?' Jaharrin sang.

Haldwyn growled quietly, allowing himself a curse. 'Aela.'


End file.
